Learning from your mistakes
by LegendaryRoxtar
Summary: Post "Gone with the Will" What's going through Chuck's mind during that tragic elevator scene and maybe beyond. When will Chuck start learning from his mistakes? Will Chuck and Blair ever be on the same page at the same time? Will I continue this fic?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own nuttin'

A/N: I don't actually have a plan for this, I don't know if I will continue it or not. Let me know what you think, please!

Blair took a step backwards into the apartment, allowing Chuck to enter. She clutched onto the flowers.

"I screwed up," his eyes begged her but she wouldn't look at him.

"It's too late, Chuck," she finally managed to mutter, if he hadn't been so focused on her he might not have heard. He looked up at her, of course he had anticipated this. "I've stood by you through all this, but I can't watch you self-destruct anymore," he wanted to lash out, make her believe that he couldn't help himself, that he was out of control, that he needed her, that she had already pulled him out of the worst, but most of all he wanted her to know that she couldn't trust Jack, that she couldn't side with him on this one.

"It was Jack, he set me up," the elevator threatened to dismiss him but he pushed it off, finally stepping out of it, he was going to continue, to tell Blair what had happened, but she didn't let him.

"You have no one to blame but yourself!" she exclaimed. He saw that she was right, more than she could know. He should have been joining her for dinner but instead he had chosen to go out with Jack. Jack knew the words to say and he manipulated him sure, but Chuck knew the difference between right and wrong and he chose wrong anyway, even though right would have been easier. He knew that it would hurt Blair. He didn't mean for Blair to find out about it though, that was the difference between him and Jack.

"I believed in you," she finally looked at him, gazing into his eyes, her own glazed over, "your father believed in you," she continued meaningfully, "_you_, you were the only one who didn't." He didn't know how to respond. Should he be embarrassed? Should he agree with her? He sighed and looked down, waiting for her to continue. She obliged. "All I wanted," she looked around for the words, "was to _be _there." She looked at him but he couldn't look back at her, he thought he had felt the full weight of his actions and his shame that morning, but in fact he was feeling it so much more now that he was standing there in front of her. "But today, when you called me your wife," he shifted uncomfortably at the reminder of his inexcusable insensitivity, "you made it sound like the ugliest word ever."

His jaw set and he managed to look up at her, his own eyes now awash with water, feeling that familiar burn. He hated himself. He hated himself for making her cry, for repaying her kindness with coldness. He wished with all his heart that they could return to her bed before he took off to Thailand, or to the Snow Ball before all this bad stuff had creeped into their life, or to the roof in Brooklyn, where he should have told her those words instead of insisting (ever so immaturely) that she say them first, or to the White Party, where she begged him to say them to her, begged him to claim her. He wished he could return to the helipad that day at the beginning of the summer, taken her hand and led her onto the helicopter, or back to the night at the hotel bar when he had spurned her, or back to the Debutante Ball, he would have let well enough alone even then. It was true, their relationship was full of regrets. On his part at least. Now he had yet another to add to the pile. All he needed was _one_ more undeserved chance.

"Blair," he took a step towards her and gently claimed her wrists as he had done at the White Party, "_please_," he choked out.


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2

He expected her to be repulsed and step back, brush him off and throw the flowers in his face and order him to leave the premises. That's what she could have done, that's what he would have deserved. But that wasn't Blair. Well, maybe the old Blair, but not the new Blair, not the Blair that loved him, not the Blair that spurned her minions in order to care for his every need. He knew that was the Blair whose glass wrists he held in his hands now. He knew when he looked into her eyes that the emotion returned in hers was real, was vital and was desperate for him.

She furrowed her brow, waiting for him to say something. She shifted and he could feel her slipping away, reclaiming her hands. His mind panicked for a moment and he slid his hands up her arms and brought her closer to him. He had never hugged, at least not sober, but that's what he was doing now. He slowly wrapped his arms across her back and allowed her to rest her head on his shoulder as they both let out breaths they had forgotten they were holding. Her small hands were clutching onto the collar of his coat as he rubbed his hands up and down her spine and whispered her name and a thousand apologies, which would never be enough.

They stepped apart and she looked at the flowers in her hand and went to the kitchen to put them in some water. Chuck followed her in. "I don't like it when we're apart," he finally stated, her back was turned over the sink and she paused before turning around and her face was thoughtful.

"What do you mean?"

"I feel like things are alright when you're around," he shyly studied the tiles for a moment, "like I'm better." She was crossing the kitchen to put the vase on the table and turned back to him.

"You don't need a babysitter, Chuck," she answered carefully. She wasn't going to fall for a trap. She wasn't going to commit herself to him if he couldn't even commit enough to ask her to.

"Maybe not," he smirked at the thought of her babysitting him, but then he thought and his expression and demeanor changed, he wanted to be touching her, to make sure he was real because he was about to confess a real fear of his. His hands found their way to her wrists again and she stopped what she was doing, her face filling with that familiar concern once more. "I can't trust anyone, Blair." He wasn't going to cry, but he was feeling a little overwhelmed with emotion, "It just feels like you're the only one who isn't trying to manipulate me, the only one who isn't lying to me to get something out of me. When you're gone, they attack me and I'm not ready for it. I can't tell what they're doing." He stopped. He was getting carried away and starting to sound like a crazy person.

She turned his face to hers, "Who are you talking about?" she started to rub his arms, trying to calm him down and comfort him, she'd found this gesture worked in the past.

"Jack," Blair braced herself for the inevitable news that Jack had told Chuck about New Years, but Chuck didn't seem to notice her slight change in demeanor and continued, unfettered, "he came to New York wanting one thing. I got in his way and he took me out." He was angry at himself. The scheming, he should have recognized it. He should have looked at the facts rather than getting his own childish hopes in the way. He had hoped Jack would be the family he needed but it was becoming clearer and clearer that nobody who was actually _related_ to him was interested in playing that role.

Blair was dueling her own demons but covered her inner conflict with a sigh. Open as she wanted to be with him, she couldn't tell Chuck about New Years _now_.


End file.
